


Intact

by Jeannie Peneaux (JeanniePeneaux)



Series: Tactful [5]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 06:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16550486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanniePeneaux/pseuds/Jeannie%20Peneaux
Summary: Lady Catherine de Bourgh lacks neither will nor tenacity but there are some trials in life that are difficult to endure.





	Intact

**Author's Note:**

> This is not fluffy. 
> 
> Briefly, at the end of 'Tact' Anne de Bourgh's death is imminent. The newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Darcy head to London, knowing that they will be shortly required at Rosings. 
> 
> This story deals with that brief period of time. Originally I had intended it as a character study of Lady C but covered less of her life than I thought I might. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Ummmm...sorry it's so sad.

Her Ladyship sat quite alone that evening. She had rung the bell and given orders that dinner should be served, more out of long-standing habit than any desire for sustenance. In truth, she had not desired food for many a week now but with an iron will had eaten each evening regardless of it.   
  
It was important for the servants to see the continuation at Rosings Park, even after its heir had been taken to the churchyard.   
  
Anne was gone. It was a black, empty thing, this grief-- she had not been prepared for it, for all her words to the contrary. Her strength had been sorely tested at the last, beside her daughter’s bedside, watching her sleep more and more until that last wakeful quarter of an hour which she had cherished and loathed in equal measure.  
  
“I am quite prepared, Mama,” she said, in a breathless, reedy voice, “I shall go on ahead to Heaven, where I will be stronger than I have ever been and you will meet me there too--one day. Only, do hold my hand, Mama, I confess to feeling a little frightened of stepping through this last door.”   
  
Catherine, reached forward in her chair and clasped Anne’s thin hand in her own. It was all so wrong, that she should be sat here marvelling at how frail she was, surely their situations ought to be reversed.   
  
“Anne,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before trying again, “Anne...if I could come with you, if I could take this journey for you, _I_ _would_.”  
  
Anne’s eyelashes fluttered against her white face, “I know it, Mother, you are so fearless--I have wished...wished that I were more like you.”  
  
Lady Catherine de Bourgh grimaced. She did not explain to her child that she had been terrified beyond anything she had ever experienced since the doctor had gravely pronounced the likelihood of Miss de Bourgh’s demise a few weeks ago. If her daughter thought her unafraid and strong, well so she would be.  
  
“I will hold your hand for as long as you wish me to, Anne. I shan’t leave you.”  
  
There was little else spoken between them, and for all the world it was as though the doctor were not five feet away and the maids were not waiting in readiness for orders, either side of the door. For Catherine, it was as though they were entirely alone in this circle of light about the bed, she thought back Anne’s birth, in a similar room in this great house. She had commanded, in no uncertain tones, that she desired to be left quite alone before the doctor commenced prodding her and for that little time, it was just her and her unborn child in a similar circle of light.   
  
Catherine sat forward in her chair and twined her fingers through Anne’s. She had been present for the birth and so she would be for the death. Her back ached, but she ignored it and continued to hold on even as she watched her child’s chest rise and fall with increasing difficulty. It would not be long now, she had seen enough of death in her life to know this for certain. She had sat with her Mama when she passed, she and her sister bearing each other company as their father, uncaring, had ridden out to his club. She had sat beside her sister’s bedside too when George Darcy had summoned her by express. Childbed fever was responsible for _that_ premature departure and all that Annie had been worried about was that her sister Cathy should watch over her son and daughter. A ridiculous request really, surely Annie had known she need not have even asked.   
  
Well, she had. She had done her duty by them and now they were doing theirs by her. Below stairs, Fitzwilliam waited with his wife and sister. He was newly married but that had not made a jot of difference to him. He was ready and waiting, he said, to relieve her burden in whatever way he could. He would attend Anne’s funeral--he would see her casket lowered and ensure that all was done properly. She could trust him for that, however little she liked to be absent from anything that concerned her own girl.   
  
Then it was over. The last breath, a last little cry-- so reminiscent of that first, weak little wail she had made when she entered the world-- and she was gone. The doctor approached the bed from the other side and felt for a pulse. It was unnecessary and she told him so.   
  
Catherine released the hand and stood stiffly. She did not shed a tear, she would not yet, she could wait, for a little while, until she was in her own room after she had dismissed the maids.   
  
“Mrs. Jenkinson, you will be so kind as to bear vigil for Miss de Bourgh. My nephew will relieve you in an hour or so.”   
  
Yes, she could trust him for that, he was so like his mother.

She stood, entirely numb, for a moment and looked at her daughter. She reached forward and gently closed the lids of Anne’s grey eyes before drawing up the sheet to cover her. She paused, fearing to appear foolish and then drew up the quilted coverlet higher anyway. Anne had so disliked feeling cold.   
  
Darcy had risen from his chair as soon as she had entered the drawing room. “I sent Elizabeth and Georgiana to bed, Aunt Catherine. They were not pleased with me but I thought it best. Shall I give orders for their maids to awaken them?”   
  
Catherine sighed, “There is little point, nephew. She is gone now. We are but a few hours off the morning. Mrs. Jenkinson will keep vigil until daybreak and then if you will do so afterwards until seven o’clock I am sure they will take their turn after they have recovered themselves.”   
  
“Will you try to rest, Aunt?” he asked in his deep, quiet voice. He was such a reliable boy, always had been.   
  
She shook her head, “I do not think I could presently. I shall seek occupation instead. I will write down my wishes as regards the funeral, you will see them carried out, will you not, Fitzwilliam?”    
  
“You know that I will,” replied he, steadily.   
  
Later that evening, after she had exhausted, dry-eyed, every avenue of distraction that she could find, she entered her own private sitting room and firmly dismissed her maid.    
  
Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside her bed and closed her eyes.    
  
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”   
  
She shattered then, entirely taken over by heartache. When she arose from her knees some unknown time later she was almost surprised to find that she was still intact. Her heart felt sore and bruised but still beat. Her eyes stung and her throat was painfully tight but breath still came when she inhaled. Her hands, feet and arms obeyed her when she made to move to the door. It did not feel as though she ought to be whole and alive, yet she was.

She made her way downstairs via a lesser used staircase and stopped short when she heard her name mentioned from a side room.

"Made of iron  _ she _ is, Lady Catherine, don't suppose she'll feel a thing, not in the way most people would at their daughter lying dead."

Shock made her pause and then a sweet voice surprised her even more.

"You will tell me your name, please."

"Mrs. Darcy! Beg pardon, madam, I didn't see you..."

"That is plain. Your name."

"P..Parker...Mrs. Darcy."

"Parker. You will go upstairs to your quarters and collect your things. The housekeeper will see that you are paid for any work you have done in this house thus far."

"You're  _ dismissing _ me?" The servant sounded incredulous, even a little challenging.

"Certainly I am dismissing you." Mrs. Darcy's voice did not lose its sweetness, but there was a decided edge of authority there now.

" _You_ _can't_!" Parker clearly did not know when to admit defeat. Lady Catherine stood still and listened. If she wasn't very much mistaken Mrs. Darcy was about to prove her mettle.

A soft, irritated sigh was heard to escape Mrs. Darcy.

"You doubt my authority?"

"Yes!"

Had it been any other day Lady Catherine might have twitched an eyebrow at that, but instead, she continued to listen, her expression blank. Vaguely she thought that she ought to be able to summon some sort of indignation.

"Her Ladyship is currently occupied with far more important affairs than a slanderous servant girl. Mr. Darcy is used to acting in his Aunt's stead when necessary and as his  _ wife _ , I will assist him with the mundane necessities of running the house until such time as Lady Catherine wishes to resume command. I repeat, Parker, you will collect your things and leave. I do not tolerate gossiping housemaids. In fact, should you put me to the trouble of importuning my husband in this matter, I shouldn't wonder if your honesty were called into question as well as your loyalty. It would be dreadful, would it not, if you found it difficult to find other work on account of untruths being whispered abroad. These things have such a dreadful habit of sticking."

Silence fell.

"Very well, Mrs. Darcy."

Lady Catherine withdrew into an alcove as footsteps approached the door and the girl, Parker, passed by.

"And what is your name?" asked Mrs. Darcy.

"Benson, ma'am." This spoken very respectfully.

"Benson. I will permit you to remain on this staff with only a warning. You ought not to have tolerated such vile slander against your mistress. In the future, I hope you will remember to show your loyalty by renouncing such talk as soon as it begins. You will complete the cleaning of this room on your own."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Darcy."

"Very well. I was informed that the housekeeper was here, where is she now?"

"She left a few minutes before you come in, madam."

"I am not accustomed to chasing servants about a house, I had better summon her to me. Continue, Benson.”    
  
Catherine turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor before her niece could exit the room. She need have no concerns about the ability of this young woman to manage a large house, she had the knack, it seemed, of managing servants.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Darcy entered the music room and nodded to her new sister who was seated at the pianoforte. Lady Catherine was sat beside her nephew and looked up at her entrance.

“Your housekeeper was most helpful, your Ladyship-- the Earl will have sufficient rooms made ready should he arrive accompanied. It is to be hoped that he does not delay many hours, I fear the weather may turn.”

“My housekeeper was likely petrified that she would be turned off should she disoblige you, Mrs. Darcy.”

She did not quite smile at her new nieces look of surprise but the faintest prickle of amusement disrupted the thick melancholy that enveloped her.

“Upon my word, Lady Catherine! Your communications at Rosings must be the envy of the army intelligence committee.”

Darcy sent a questioning look to his wife.

“I dismissed one of Lady Catherine's servants not twenty minutes ago, Fitzwilliam. I apologize, your Ladyship, if I have acted as you would not have wished.”

The older woman waved this off, “you acted, Mrs. Darcy, precisely as I would have done in the same circumstances. Let us say no more about it, save that my nephew did well to listen to my advice to wed you in April. Now, you have the full list of my wishes for the morrow, Fitzwilliam-- there is little use in delay after all. Let it be done with, and quickly. I will relieve Mrs. Jenkinson for an hour or so now. Mrs. Darcy will ring for tea when it is required.”

With that, she briskly quit the room.

Elizabeth looked at her husband, “the burial is for tomorrow then?”

He nodded, “Yes. Come here, my dear, and sit beside me.” Elizabeth did so, with a quick glance to Georgiana who was engaged in playing a stately melody. “Fitzwilliam,” she said in a low voice, “I have been concerned about something...Lady Catherine will not be obliged to leave Rosings will she? I mean now that Sir Lewis's heir…”

Her husband's brow, which had creased at her question, cleared and he shook his head, “No, the de Bourgh's are cousins to the Fitzwilliam family, my Uncle Matlock officially inherits Rosings but  _ he _ will not hear of her leaving. She also has the use of a house in Bath for the duration of her life, not that she uses it often, perhaps she will now-- the society would be good for her when she comes out of mourning.”

“I suppose she has remained at Rosings for so long on account of Anne's fragility. Well, I am glad that your Aunt will not be homeless at least. I could not help but ask, Longbourn is entailed, you know.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I know.”

‘Oh, of course, Papa would have mentioned it, I suppose.”

He reached up and smoothed away an errant strand of his wife's hair, “you need not worry about such things now, Elizabeth.”

Lizzy smiled at him and rested a light hand on his shoulder, “I cannot abandon  _ all _ of my lifetime concerns, Fitzwilliam, merely because I have entered wedded bliss! It will take me at least another year of happiness for me to be mended to your satisfaction.”

To her surprise, he did not smile at her teasing, instead, he took her hand and kissed it. “It has hardly been the blissful start for you that I would have wished, merely a week in a London and then here to deal with this.”

“I would hardly be anywhere else, my love, did I not promise to be your wife? I am entirely content to be wherever you are, even if it is here in such an unhappy situation. Besides, I have been useful, have I not?”

“Yes, yes. My Aunt would not say that she is glad of you lightly, which she did before you came in. I hope you did not have to endure any insolence from the servant you sent off.”

“I do wish you will tell me how she can have found out so soon, Mr. Darcy!”

“Her Ladyship did not enlighten me as to that, Mrs. Darcy.”

“Oh, I do so dislike mysteries that I am not a party too. No, my love, I sent the girl off for some very unpleasant talk regarding her mistress. It was a small thing, though I confess I might not have interfered if I had not felt so angry. No, no, you must not frown at me so soon after our wedding, Fitzwilliam, it quite takes away from your delightfully proportioned features. There! A smile is far better, I shall reward you by ringing for the tea tray to be brought. Georgiana, shall you abandon Mr. Dowland for tea?”

A day later, and tea was sent for once again. It grew cold in and unpoured in the pot. Lady Catherine was borne company by Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Collins and her niece, Georgiana, as Anne was taken, one final time from her home. There would be no more partings,  _ this _ was the last.   
  
The ladies said nothing, merely sat in silence with her as she became lost in her own memories. Catherine did not merely dwell on her daughter but on her husband, her sister and her mother also. It seemed as though she could not keep her thoughts from straying to her other losses. Mama’s had been a hard parting, she had been young and resilient though and of course, Annie had been with her then--it was not so lonely. Then Sir Lewis had died but a few years later and although she would not have said that she was in love with him, she had regretted that his life had been so short, perhaps she could have loved him if he had lived. It was occupation that helped her in those lonely years, the business of taking hold of the management of Rosings with an iron fist had been a pleasant and satisfying distraction if truth be told. She had rather enjoyed her widowhood, in a way, there was so much more freedom for a widow of means than even an Earl’s daughter with a husband. Anne had kept her distracted too, of course, although she was not a maternal sort of woman, there was something rather pleasing at looking at one's child and seeing familiar features or gestures that she knew had been hers first.    
  
She really ought not be feeling so shaken as she was. She had known, for years now, that Anne had not been strong and the doctor had given sufficient warning. Still, it had been a shock when she finally admitted to herself that she would outlive her girl.    
  
Catherine sat, lonely and yet not alone, and felt every one of her fifty-three years, she wondered when her turn would come when the Lord would determine that she had lived quite long enough. At that moment, she looked forward to it. Perhaps tomorrow, or the next day, she would stiffen her spine again and declare roundly that she was not weak, she was a  _ Fitzwilliam _ and she would go on living.

Time passed, and the men returned. There was a trace of mud on the Reverend Collins’ boots, she noticed it and felt quite sick. It had been that same soil, that same dirt, that her Anne had just been committed to. She swallowed, staring at it, and swallowed again.    
  
Matlock spoke came close and took her hand, quietly, so that no one else could hear, he said, “it is done, Cathy. You cared for her well.”   


Blindly, she clutched at her brother’s hand and nodded once, abruptly, she looked to Darcy through blurred eyes.    
  
“Did you lay the rosemary?”   
  
He bowed, ever grave and ever serious, “Yes, Aunt.”   
  
“Well then. Well.”    
  
She sent them all off three days later, there was no real need, after all, for them to be there and she wished, for a time at least, to be as physically alone as she was in her heart--she would accustom herself. Perhaps she would set herself a marker, a time in which she could indulge in her grief before putting off her blacks and rejoining the world once more. Mrs. Darcy paused before her as she took her leave.

“I will write to you, your ladyship, once we are returned to Pemberley--you promised me once that I might have your advice and I shall certainly seek it.”   
  
In the vague recesses of her mind, Catherine rather suspected that she was being managed, oh kindly, but managed nonetheless. She looked at her favourite nephew’s wife, slim and pretty and full of promise and nodded graciously. Of  _ course _ such a young thing would need advice...it showed great intelligence that she should seek it from such an experienced quarter.    
  
“You must not fail to do so, Mrs. Darcy--I have some idea of visiting you, perhaps when there is promise of a child.” Yes, assuredly, she would determine the end of her public mourning for her child when her niece produced an heir for Pemberley.   
  
One corner of her mouth lifted in almost amusement when Elizabeth turned scarlet and hesitated before replying, “Lady Catherine, you need no invitation to Pemberley. When you are ready to leave Rosings we will expect you.”   
  
She would not readily admit it, but such kind sentiments pleased her. Clearly, she was becoming one of those sentimental old ladies that she herself viewed with such contempt.    
  
Lady Catherine de Bourgh watched the carriage depart and turned back into the house. She stood for several long minutes in the hallway, staring at the clock. The footmen closed the front door, blotting out the grey wintery light. She ought to call for the lamps and candles to be lit but she would not.    
  
With steady, measured footsteps, her heels meeting the tiled floor with a firm clicking step, she made her way to the drawing room. She would dine properly this evening, however little she felt hunger. She would call for candles then.

Inside her head, she counted, as she sat, each empty room in the house. This drawing room, the Indian salon, the great dining room, the family dining room, the library...they stretched on in her mind's eye, large and grand and entirely empty.   
  
She may as well have been calculating the size of the void within her own heart.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
